Page 63 of Chasing Benedict
Cynthia shot to her feet, her chair pushing back against Alex’s middle. She was in a lather, fists clenched as she whirled manically, as if to set her cold eyes on every one of them.
“This is preposterous! You all cannot be daft enough to believe these claims! Those documents are a fabrication, and Lord Vautrey’s vendetta against me is nothing more than an attempt to cover his own disgusting secrets!”
“Be very careful with your next words, Miss Milbank,” Alex said, his low voice heavy with warning. “I am prepared to be gracious toward you, but only if you do not push your luck. I will not tolerate accusations against my good name under my own roof. Now sit down, and shut your mouth.”
“No!” she roared, backing away from the table, one hand falling over her bosom. “No! This isn’t right! This isn’t how it was supposed to happen!”
“Ah, I see,” Alex said. “You expected Mr. Sterling to cater to your whims. How much did you attempt to extort from him to keep his secrets?”
“The man has been running a prostitution ring right under all your noses!” she bellowed, waving a wild hand in Benedict’s direction. “Heis the proprietor of The Gentleman Courtesans, a scheming bawd who sought to prey on the vulnerable women of London by peddling the sexual favors of several men. Many of them are here tonight. Mr. Drake, Mr. Burke, Mr. Graham, and Mr. Radcliffe! They were all willing participants in the sordid enterprise!”
One could have heard a pin drop in the explosive silence following Cynthia’s tirade. Every muscle in Benedict’s body clenched, his hands itching to strangle the woman where she stood. But, as the others looked curiously at his friends, not one of them flinched. David’s lips quivered as if he were laughing at a private joke, and Nick looked as if he might burst with the words lingering on his tongue.
Alex remained as cool as ever. “Mr. Burke, would you care to address this ridiculous allegation?”
Nick gave Cynthia a coy smirk as he stood to his feet. “My lords and ladies, despite the deranged ramblings of this woman—who is a proven liar and schemer—I am here to assure you that no such agency exists. There are no gentleman courtesans.”
“You lie!” Cynthia cried. “I have proof! The testimony of a woman who swore to me that you warmed her bed for almost a year. A dress shop was used as a secret meeting place. Your calling-cards—”
“Only spelled out the initials of the real agency that myself and my friends took part in creating. The Gentleman Courters; an agency dedicated to reforming men with scandalous reputations in preparation for marriage, as well as matching potential brides with men seeking wives.”
Benedict goggled at Nick, unable to fathom what he was hearing. Had it always been this simple—disguising a courtesan endeavor as a matchmaking one?
“Any man who has been taken under the tutelage of Mr. Sterling can tell you that he has an uncanny skill for reading people,” Nick continued. “With that skill, he was able to match myself and my friends with the perfect companions. I stand here today a man reformed, in love, and happier than ever, thanks to Benedict pairing me with my beautiful wife.”
“I second that,” Hugh put in, joining Nick on his feet. “If it weren’t for The Gentleman Courters, I would never have been matched with my dear Evie, who is the light of my life. I would not be expecting my first child, or achieving such greatness in my art.”
David laid a hand atop Regina’s on the table, giving her a glance filled with affection. “I think everyone in this room knows I would have never stood a chance with a woman such as this, had not Mr. Sterling shaped me into the man I am today … a man worthy of a woman like my darling Regina.”
Aubrey kissed his wife’s gloved knuckles and grinned. “I cannot reiterate what my friends have already said to eloquently. We all have Mr. Sterling to thank for our happiness. He has done nothing wrong, and Miss Milbank has made it her mission to twist the true spirit of the agency to paint Mr. Sterling as a villain.”
“Perhaps her own state of spinsterhood is to blame,” Nick muttered while taking his seat.
David snorted a laugh, nearly spewing wine across the table, while Aubrey shook his head at both him and Nick. Benedict couldn’t decide how he felt, his head spinning as he absorbed the masterful orchestration of Alex’s plan as it played out before him. He would never have imagined his friends might come together to put the talk of The Gentleman Courtesans to rest for good. It drove home just how much he had underestimated them all, how much he had taken on alone unnecessarily.
“Now then,” Alex said, looking to a deflated and defeated Cynthia. “Are you ready to admit the truth? I warn you, if you continue to lie to us, my good humor will wane, and I will be forced to deal harshly with you.”
Cynthia stared down at the rug, her slumped shoulders and wet, reddened cheeks speaking of her helplessness. “All right … yes. Yes, I am the London Gossip.” Her head snapped up, her tear-filled face nearly purple as she resumed her rebellious posturing. “But I only became the Gossip to prove that you lords with your titles and the fortunes you haven’t earned are no better than the rest of us. You’re only men—disgusting animals and the whores you consort with!”
“I resent that remark,” Celeste said with puckered lips.
“Hell, I resemble that remark,” Millicent quipped, sending both women leaning into one another in a fit of giggles.
“Nothing wrong with being a whore,” added the Earl of Hartmoor. “It’s good honest work.”
“Don’t you dare mock me!” Cynthia railed. “I held your secrets in the palm of my hand, your livelihoods, your futures! I destroyed who I wished with the stroke of my pen, and I could take every one of you down any time I liked. I am not some insignificant merchant’s daughter. I have proven that I am better than you, smarter than you! I made myself from the ground up, and not one of you can claim to have done the same! I have made myself more powerful than all of you!”
“Not anymore,” Alex said. “Henceforth, all your writings will cease, under the name of the London Gossip or any other pseudonym.”
“Hang you,” Cynthia ground out, tears steadily streaming down her cheeks. “Hang you all!”
“Miss Milbank, I have long run out of patience with you,” Alex retorted. “You will be silent and listen! Your time as the London Gossip is over, and with the help of the people gathered here, I will ensure that you can never hurt another person. Firstly, every printer in London has been made to understand that producing any materials written by you will result in dire consequences. Their business will dry up, and they will be destitute—we will see to it ourselves.”
“I damned sure will,” Hartmoor grumbled.
“Secondly, with the help of Mr. Lyons, I have procured the names of all the men in your employ. They will be paid handsomely to never lift a finger on your behalf again. Try intimidating anyone without your thugs for reinforcement.”
“I will personally finance that endeavor myself,” Hartmoor said. “Gladly.”
